The Manhunt/Chapter 7
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you two in here in the first place,” he said. "I shouldn’t have been curious enough to know. I’m sorry.” The man looked up, eyes decisive, and words sharp. “My name is Antoine Devaux. And I refuse to take your uncle’s destiny." ---- “I’m sorry,” Antoine had said, when the two first turned up onto his doorstep and explained their proposition. He had raised his right hand, revealing a thin silver band on his fourth finger. “Come in, though." His room had been small and homely. A few cheap Dutch landscapes had hung on the wall; the furniture was second-hand and slightly worn away. He had offered croissants and tea, and explained in the kindest of tones that, had the two found him two years ago and offered the destiny, he would have complied. “I was at a dead-end. No jobs, no prospects, nothing. To serve in a destiny would have been a great way to end everything,” he sipped the cup. On the outside, he looked absolutely calm. “But the world started looking up.” The other two refrained from making any comment. Antoine simply continued on with his small speech. “A stroke of luck, one would call it. I got a solid job and even a promotion. I got engaged.” There was a small, quizzical silence exchanged. “And you think being married is going to solve everything?” Airmid said, laying down their tea. “You haven’t even known this woman for two years? How do you know it’s even going to work out in the future?" “True, but at least she was better than the past I had. I’m secure, I’m happy. But enough about it,” Antoine refilled the tea. “I want to hear about you two.” Airmid had gone first, of course, in their own impulsive, quick-fire way. They shot off their name, destiny, and a few of their accomplishments. They rambled a bit about eminent scientists and their own aspirations, and finished with a quote by Voltaire. “I see you’re familiar with the French.” “Only the interesting ones.” Bastion preferred to stay silent. He would have been happy to let the physician talk. Words ran off their mouth so much more easily, and he could have listened to the rambling all day. But as luck would have it, what Antoine really wanted to hear was facts about Bastion. And so he had to speak. He gave all the important details – name, destiny. When Antoine prodded for more, he gave extracurriculars. When asked for interests, he blanked. Seriously, he had given all the information one really needed to know about him. “You’re a French Legacy!” Antoine had said. “There must be more!” “No,” said Bas. “I’m afraid I’m not particularly interesting." The rest of the talking – thank D’Aulnoy – was taken up by Antoine. He had given his tragic life story without any warning, he talked about his job, his fiancée, how she was coming home in a few minutes and it would be lovely for them to meet her. With his words, he painted a vibrant image, a life worth living. And in the middle of a sentence, without warning, he stopped, and looked sharply at Bastion. “You don’t understand, do you?” Antoine said, quietly. “What do you mean?” “We’re family,” he said. “Look, your uncle left me and my mother’s in prison, I was left to fend for myself, and now you just show up on my doorstep– tell me you’re my father’s nephew–“ He took a deep breath, and rubbed his forehead. Airmid Valerian thought this a perfect time to hexcuse themself to the bathroom. “And I think – yes, finally, I get a gist of what my family history is like. And we’re– you’re a legacy! So it’s all fantastic. Furthermore, it’s a D’Aulnoy tale, which is fundamentally more interesting than Charles Perrault.” “Very true.” “Don’t interrupt me, I’m monologuing.” (“A very good villain skill,” Bas thought, silently.) “So here I am, thinking, cool. I can meet with and talk to someone grand and interesting. And here you are. And you’re, you’re–“ he struggled to find the words, gesturing his hand over and over in vain. “You’re–“ Bastion raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Dull. There, I said it. You gave me that vibe from your Flitter account, and you confirmed it in this room,” he sighed. “I had once thought of fairytale legacies as beautiful and well-dressed and self-spoken. I had thought that they carried stories and words and wisdom, and instead I get you. Look, man, I’m a spellemarketer, for gods’ sake. I sell people things on the phone. Everyday is the same rhythm and nothing changes. And you’re just– you’re just as boring as me. What sort of person as you? How can you live in a world so vibrant and colourful and turn out just like this?" The air was tense now, and too hard to get rid of. Antoine sighed and dropped back into his chair and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you two in here in the first place,” he said. "I shouldn’t have been curious enough to know. I’m sorry.” The man looked up, eyes decisive, and words sharp. “My name is Antoine Devaux. And I refuse to take your uncle’s destiny." “But he’s your father–“ “Correction. He was your uncle. Not my father. He never cared one bit about me. So why should I call him so?” he stood up. “Please leave my house." “I’m sorry,” Bastion said, reaching for his chequebook. He filled in some numbers, signed it off, tore the cheque out, and offered it to Antoine. “For your trouble.” “Are you legit?” Antoine eyed the cheque suspiciously. “For real?" “As real as this piece of paper.” Once he had gathered Airmid, Bastion was nearly shoved out. And when the door slammed, it did so with alarming curtness. ---- "Seems we have a penchant for getting ourselves kicked out of houses, don't we?" Airmid said, as the two left Antoine's yard. "Yes," said Bastion, who would rather not talk right now. He edged away from the physician, arms tucked into each other. It wasn't the first time one of their attempts had failed, and Bastion was convinced it wouldn't be their last. But at that moment, it seemed as if their quest was a wild golden goose hunt. “That said, we do have the rest of the day free,” he said, opening up the itinerary on his MirrorPhone. “Any suggestions, Airmid?” “I want to get drunk.” “Any sensible suggestions, Airmid?” “I want to get drunk responsibly.” There was a long pause as Bastion struggled with the thought. Then he sighed. “To be fair, I’m inclined to agree with you. This whole business has been tiring. You deserve a break for dealing with me.” “It’s your family story, Fanfarinet. All the effort expended has been your own.” “We haven’t gotten far. It makes me doubt if any worthwhile amount of effort has been put in." “You're underselling yourself again.” But that was the thing. Bastion Fanfarinet simply had a talent for self-deprecation. Category:Subpages Category:The Manhunt (Zee Fic)